“Yes, Pete,” replied the subaltern in a voice that he hardly knew as his own; and rising clear of the bushes, he made his way to where he could dimly make out the figure of Minnie kneeling beneath the attap roof.
“Minnie,” he whispered, “our men are fighting to defend the station, and our place is there. Tell the Malay to get the boat across to a spot where you will be safe. Don’t ask me to stay. I can’t.” Turning from the girl as she made a snatch at his hand, “Now, Pete,” he said, and grasping the gun, he sprang over the side into the shallow water, and then, as he dragged himself out by the help of the nearest bush, a quick panting from the gloom around told him that Peter was by his side. Then old discipline asserted itself. “Forward! Double!” he cried; and falling into step, the two lads ran almost blindly in the direction of the shouting and yells, which acted as their guides to the quarter where the conflict was going on.
Those next minutes were to the lads like a brief period of blind confusion, and at one time they were hurrying between trees where the smoke was thickest, rising from places where firing was going on and the mist hung low but seemed to be lightened here and there by the flickering of fire, whose pungent odour of burning wood assailed their nostrils. Then Archie was conscious of finding himself rushing through a crowd, at whom he struck right and left with the barrels of his gun, and of hearing a piercing yell somewhere to his right, followed by a grim, stem voice growling:
“You’ve got it, then!”
And at last, with a bound, the two lads stumbled, nearly fell, and then leaped together over a rough breast-work, and fell heavily amongst the dimly seen defenders who were left.
“Friends—friends!” yelled Peter, and then, “Mister Archie, sir, where are you? Ah! That’s done it!” For no reply came in answer from his panting companion, who was being partly held up by one of those whom he had joined, and who gasped out a cheer.
“That’s right! Hooray it is!” cried Peter. “Here, give us a rifle. I’ve got a bayonet.” And Archie heard the click, click of the keen weapon being fixed.
This brought back his failing powers, and the next minute, finding himself in the little line of defenders who were dimly seen in the smoke that was floating from the levelled Residency, he raised the gun he still clung to, tired twice into the bearers of so many bristling spears, and began to load again, asking himself the question, “Are the cartridges wet?”
The little, hurriedly thrust-in rolls answered for themselves with two more sharp reports, and these four shots resulted in checking the enemy’s advance and in raising a wildly exultant, though feeble, cheer from the defenders along the little line; for, trifling as was the addition to the failing force, the shots seemed to give as much encouragement to the enfeebled men as dismay to their enemy.
“Fire, sir—fire, Mister Archie! Don’t stop to aim, sir!” panted Peter. “I’ve got a lot more ready. Fire till the barrels are too hot to hold!” And, trembling with excitement the while, Archie fired as fast as he could drag the cartridges from the pockets where they lay.